


Until we bleed

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: Drarry Dump [25]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2168130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound





	Until we bleed

The sheets are cool and I’m shivering. The soft sound of water hitting the window has me reaching blindly for it; for the warmth of another body. I’d even take the shelter of the duvet at this point. It takes me a minute, perhaps two before I am awake enough to register why I feel so alone.

Because I am.

It is a frown that pulls me completely from the land of sleep and dreaming, a blurry glance around to solidify that the house is empty. A sigh escapes me and I want to sit up but I’m falling back against the pillows instead. I’ve managed to get up every day of my life all alone and up until recently it was actually the way I preferred it, but now..

Things are different now.

There is water on in the inside now, splattering against the tiles of the shower and I am alone here too. When did trivial moments such as these begin to stand out so much?  When was the moment that it changed? Maybe it’s me who changed.

There is nothing quite like the way a prima cotton shirt feels as it glides over a bare shoulder, or the way a silk tie glides effortlessly through fingertips, but even the art of dressing for the day seems solitary. Grey eyes flicker to the row of cashmere sweaters, a slight crease wrinkling my brow.  There is a memory here and I smile despite myself. Even the closet is a lonely place now.

The smell of coffee fills the kitchen and it comforts me as I sit there, legs crossed, napkin on my lap and the Prophet open in front of me. It’s one of my ‘things’ reading the morning paper. I don’t enjoy the articles as much as I enjoy silently mocking them in my head. When I can’t come up with any mentally scathing remarks, a brief concern washes over me. 

This can’t be good.

Sitting behind a large oak desk was something I watched my father do for years in his own study, something that I’d always longed for in my own way.  Now I have my own and a flourishing business to go along with it, but what does it all matter when I can scarcely form a complete thought?  My assistant rouses me from an elongated gaze out the window of my 37th floor office and I turn, marking her with an expression that is a mixture of contempt and gratitude.  Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself.

It’s afternoon tea with mother, she’s insisted I come to the manor and I do; without question.  She’s sitting across from me and peering at me with that gaze of hers that always manages to see directly into my soul.  I shift slightly in my seat and avert my gaze and do my very best at not letting her get to me.  She remarks about the state of my hair and how thin I look and how lonely the manor is when I am away, and I love her for each of them.  Before I leave she wraps me in her arms in an embrace that should only affect small children and I sigh happily, truly understanding the power of human touch.  I tell her I love her and she tells me not to be a stranger.  I kiss her cheek and she makes me promise to eat more often. We don’t bring him up but we both know where I’m headed and that is okay. It is our way.

I’m sitting on a white sofa staring at a flashing picture box. My tie is slack around my neck and my hair is slightly unsettled from where my fingers have pushed through it one too many times.  I am restless and hungry and tired and so sleepless it’s a wonder I manage to function at all. I consider a drink but quickly push the thought away. Save the sloppiness for special occasions.  It’s 8pm and I am sinking farther into the cushions of this sofa, the frown has returned and the hunger has taken its leave.  I’m considering a bath when it happens.  I look up with a smile and everything changes.  In the blink of an eye the solitude has vanished and I am no longer alone.  When he enters I study him and wonder if he’s had the sort of day I’ve had.  Does it affect him like it affects me?  I would never ask..

The day has long since faded into night and the night has now become early morning. I’m back in bed but now the sheets are warm with a heat that I just can’t get enough of.  This time when I reach out I find what I’m looking for and I smile in the darkness; this is my life.


End file.
